Chapter Sixteen

In the quiet of the early morning, she slipped on her robe, carried her folding desk and chair to the study and shut herself and Elwood in the room, determined to let Roman sleep late.

The dog clickety-clacked to Jan’s side, looking up expectantly. Tiny burrs from the bushes dotted his chin hairs, making him look unkempt, like an old man who dropped food on his beard when he ate.

She swore under her breath and bent to pluck the burrs out one by one. Afterward he cocked his black head, seeming to ask why she’d locked him in the study, away from his food bowl.

“Sorry, kid. Our goal is to let Roman sleep so he has less time to work on the Johnson thing.” She’d checked with The Seattle Times this morning. They said the pedestal was built. A little ceremony and the placing of Johnson’s bust in front of the Johnson Institute was scheduled a week from today…if Jan could keep Roman occupied enough so that his muckraking article never saw the light of day.

She pumped her fist. “He thinks he’s protecting me, but I’m actually holding him here to save the Senator. Plus, with him sleeping, I can focus on my work.”

Thank God she hadn’t let Frank stay in her house. He would have made an overture to have sex, out of politeness as much as need, and she would have had to refuse. Awkward. Hurtful. So confusing.

Frank. Roman. Jan gazed at Elwood, wondering why both men got an abnormal reaction from the dog. Frank got the stare and Roman, the growl. Why?” The sun glinted off her dew-laden Mexican sage bush reminding her to sharpen her critique. Roman was conducting covert research into the Senator and Barker’s lives along with who knew what else. The man was a flaw-finding short-timer, well-deserving of a growl. Was Frank up to something secretive, too?

“You and I are going to think hard and move fast when we’re around those two, right?”

The Scottie grabbed his tennis ball from the corner of the room and brought it to her just as Roman appeared in the kitchen. Through the square-paned glass doors of the study she saw him, sleepy-eyed, in T-shirt and shorts. Barefoot. He got coffee and took a couple swallows before he looked for her.

She held her breath, stomach taut, waiting for him to find her.

Though she remembered to exhale, the sight of his expression of relief when he located her made Jan forget the pledge she’d made a second before. She motioned for him to come in.

Elwood, sticking to protocol, dropped his ball and growled.

****

Roman dug in his pocket for a dog biscuit, careful not to tip his too-full cup of coffee. He glanced at his exposed feet and ankles, wondering if he could protect them at the same time he balanced his precious French Roast.

“Shit,” he said, sotto voce, grasping the cup and the dog biscuit in one hand and opening the door with the other. All he wanted was to look at Jan in her silky blue bathrobe, banter with her over coffee and get his juices going about Barker. But no, he had to deal with the devil dog.

Roman grimaced as Grandpa Sid’s mantra drifted into his mind: You’ll never be a good writer until you get into your subject’s skin.

Roman had always rejected the notion and told his grandfather so, weekly. “Not true, Sidney. My job is to be objective.”

Elwood was a subject. Clearly Roman wasn’t getting anywhere with the little black hellion. Might be fun to test Sid’s theory on an animal. Not a lab rat. A dog. Jan’s gatekeeper.

He opened the door, his eyes on Elwood, the draft of air on his ankles reminding him of their vulnerability. Kneeling down, partly to protect his bare skin, he placed his coffee cup on the floor and fingered the dog biscuit.

“Good morning, Elwood. And how are you today?”

The dog’s growl deepened. Roman caught Jan’s puzzled look.

Roman cleared his throat, feeling silly talking to the dog instead of Jan. How did someone get into a dog’s skin?

“We’re both protecting Jazz, Elwood. Makes us partners, right?”

The dog eyed the biscuit and licked his lips, but didn’t budge from his position next to Jan’s chair.

“I won’t hurt her, I promise.” Easy to say. Was he telling the truth?

Elwood rumbled, his tail wagging to the left. Roman tried to remember what left-wagging meant in doggie language.

Not buying it. Doesn’t appreciate a promise based on a negative.

“I’ll help her. I’ll make her happy.”

Where did that come from? Shit, this was awkward.

He held out the biscuit, muttering a curse against Sidney and his “walk in their paws” principle. How could a human know what a dog wanted?

Roman glanced at Jan, catching a dazzling smile. At least Sid’s strategy worked on her.

Back to the animal. The dog hadn’t moved, but his eyes were now focused on the treat.

“I’ll let her read the draft on Senator Johnson.”

The dog ambled toward him, stopping a foot from the proffered biscuit. He sat, his eyes on Roman’s.

“I’ll consider her critique of the thing.”

Right-wag.

Elwood delicately removed the food from Roman’s fingers, trotted to a sunny spot near the window and sprawled there, the food between his paws.

Roman picked up his cup and rose, his face hot with embarrassment. Christ, I’m talking to a dog when what I really want is to hold her, run my hands over her body, kiss her…

He examined his hand, checking for rough places that might catch on her satin robe and spoil his caresses.

Surely his silk fantasies and dog talk had marked his face with chagrin and lust. What would that look like to her? Since he was too chicken to find out, he pretended that Elwood’s progress on the biscuit and the Los Padres peaks held his interest.

He couldn’t believe what he’d promised her. Sure, Elwood seemed placated, but was she? Would she hold him to vows made to a dog?

Even when he heard Jan push her chair from the table, he couldn’t look at her.

“I accept your offers,” she said leaning in, her breath warming his ear, satin brushing his arm. “Elly and I thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m going to shower and dress before the phones start ringing. You boys enjoy your new-found partnership.”

Roman watched her walk away, mesmerized by the sway of the silk bathrobe against her sweet ass.

Forget “under her skin;” he’d be satisfied with “under the bathrobe.”

****

After she’d taken her shower, Jan selected her clothes carefully, as if the colors, textures, and fit might determine the success of her next moves. Roman’s promises to Elwood, her go between, had changed her mind about the man. Maybe he wouldn’t ruin Senator Johnson’s biography. Perhaps he hadn’t Googled her past. Was there a chance he’d be fair when he delivered Sidney’s eulogy?

She felt silly picking out clothes to bolster her confidence and cinch a man’s vows. Still, she sorted through her shirts and pants, choosing a form-fitting pink sleeveless silk paired with white capris. Add big gold hoop earrings and a noisy bracelet. The jewelry would tip her off if she got nervous and remind her to calm down.

Once dressed, Jan blew dry her hair and brushed it hard. Added a spray to give it shine. Applied an eight-hour lipstick. Brushed on mascara. A spritz of perfume.

Ready?

The mirror told her she looked pale and uncertain. She dabbed blush on her cheeks to emulate heartiness.

Why go to all the trouble? Because he’d literally gotten down on his knees to make friends with Elwood. For her.

“If you let me critique your script on the Senator, I’ll help you dig into Barker’s life,” she said as she entered the great room, afraid if she didn’t say what she wanted right away, she’d lose her nerve.

He remained at the open patio door sipping coffee. The lift of his shoulders signaled he’d heard her. Was he surprised?

“Okay,” he said, as if her request was no big deal. He seemed to wait for her to stop moving. Grabbing her bracelet to quiet it, she conjured a serene lake, becalmed and smooth as a mirror. Big breath. Take it. “Just so you know. My first obligation is to Tess,” she said. “Not your exposé on Cliff Barker.”